The Mean Patient

Okay, I know she’s hurting. I know that pain can make even the sweetest person a little testy.

But damn, Olivia’s a mean patient.

She’s growly, she’s whiny, she’s impatient.

Yesterday when I got to my mom’s she informed me that Olivia had been a little, ummm, ouchy that day. We all agree that her arm/shoulder hurt. But does that give her the right to snap orders like she’s Gordon Ramsay? I think not.

A few minutes after I got there, O informed me she had to pee. I said okay. And, apparently, I didn’t move nearly fast enough for her because she put her right hand on her hip, tilted her head and hissed, “Come on!”

Ohh my, rudeness abounds, Little Miss!

But then again, maybe my patience level is a bit low due to the fact that the rude miss hasn’t been sleeping well for the last three nights which means, you guessed it, mama hasn’t slept well either.

She wants to sleep in the twin bed, with my arm under her, with her face in my neck and my arm hand rubbing her hair or her face or her arm.

And you know what? That might help HER sleep but it doesn’t do much toward letting me have a restful night.

I know, wah wah wah, suck it up, your child is injured. I know it won’t last.

The kicker last night, though, was when I woke from a lousy hour of sleep to find her laying sideways on the twin bed with her feet pressed flat against the wall and her head jammed between my shoulder blades. I rolled off the bed and she rolled over, flinging her left arm over her head and nary a whimper came from her slumbering body.

See! She’s feeling better. Yay and all that but what it really means is that she doesn’t NEED me to sleep next to her, she just wants that and she’s milking this sore arm thing for all it’s worth.

Gotta give the kid kudos on that one.